I Know It's Late, But
by novae mienai
Summary: Len is a cheerful but poor pizza delivery boy. Rin is the isolated daughter of wealthy investors. He came to her house to deliver pizza, but then, for some strange reason, she invites him inside. Rin/Len. Oneshot.
a/n: *accidentally writes another RinLen*

OOPS

It's really not much at all, it's seriously just me typing random stuff but I hope you like it or something... aha this is my March break fic! you can probably not expect anything else from me until after midterms... which'll be like, May... (cries) unless I have another weird burst of writing-itis like I did today ww

cover image: Yakitori, pixiv id 254835

* * *

He's never even been _near_ a house like this before. The sort of house ominously hidden behind those ten-foot-tall ornate gates. He's not privileged enough for those gates to open for him.

He briefly wonders what it would be like; to be one of those filthy rich boys, or even the _friend_ of a filthy rich boy. People with money truly live in a faraway land, at least in this town, geographically segregated by class. All the rich people to the east, poor people in the west. Len lived his life in the west, never even speaking to someone from the east. At least, until he got this pizza delivery job.

It'd been a chore for him to find a job, mainly because of his limited available hours. He needed work, he really did, because his family was really struggling, and hell if his humble heart would let him be a dead weight. But with school and tennis and piano and making lunch every morning and helping the underclassmen with math in the afternoons, just where was the time? Answer: late at night.

It actually worked out rather perfectly, once he found the position. Conveniently late (eight PM to one AM, leaving five whole hours for sleep), and they let him take home leftovers for lunch the next day, and he got to ride the cool bike around.

So it's about ten-thirty and he's approaching the Big House now, and well, it's big. All the houses around here are impressive in their own right, but this one puts them all to shame. It's the prim and proper type of Big House, all stone and marble and groomed like a poodle. Len can feel his quickened heartbeat over the motor of the cool bike, and even he acknowledges it's maybe a bit silly to get excited, but in the end it's perfectly normal, right? People salivate when they see pictures of good food, and get adrenaline rushes when they see their crush across the street. This is practically the same thing.

He's stopped the bike at the entrance, and is elated to see one of those talky-radio things they use to check who's there before opening the gate. His hand is trembling so it takes him three tries to put his finger to the buzzer. Eventually comes a girl's voice, and it's a testimony of technology/their money, how clearly it comes through the speakers. It's practically like she's in front of him.

"Is this the pizza?"

Len is suddenly a little more nervous, because her voice is really… nice. Cute and her accent is refined. His trustworthy intuition tells him, just from the sound, that she's his age. Does he have the balls to deal with a 'President's Daughter' type?

' _You're only here to deliver pizza, Len,'_ he breathes at himself, ' _so_ _calm the hell down.'_

"Yeah, Domino's Pizza," he looks at his paper under the streetlights, "um, three-cheese bacon and chicken wings with ranch sauce."

"Come in," she says simply, and the little light blinks off, indicating she's stepped away from the radio.

He's disappointed that the gates don't just dramatically creak open after that, and that he has to, you know, push them open himself, but they do make that ancient, rusty groan as he does and that cheers him up a little.

He hops on his bike and commences the Hero's Journey down the ten-mile long driveway, stopping occasionally to further inspect (read: fanboy over) things like the water fountain and the rabbit-shaped topiaries. Eventually he reaches the door, and lets the wealth flow into his fingers as he swings the eagle brass knocker.

 _A goddamn door knocker!_

She opens the door.

Maybe if she was ugly, or even just _average_ , he'd be able to hand her the pizza, take her money and go. Or, he might've stuck around a few minutes and chatted amiably, like he often does with customers—he'd like, make a cheeky joke about her ordering a large pizza despite the house behind her looking decidedly deserted.

But unfortunately she is EXCEEDINGLY OVERWHELMINGLY CUTE AND SMALL LIKE A CHINA DOLL, so, well… crap.

"Delivery," he announces, grinning, he hopes not awkwardly.

She doesn't look at him, but stares at the Domino's bag in his hand like it's the first time she's seen something so greasy and plebian. Eventually she takes the food from him with a small "thank you".

"That'll be thirty-nine seventy-five," Len recites, "tip included."

She's puzzled for a moment, but then her eyes widen and she hurries back into the house without a word. Len's used to people forgetting to bring their money to the door, so he waits patiently, though he can't help thinking that maybe it's been his dream for years, to watch a cute girl run around her home in sock feet.

She comes back and drops exact change into his hand. "S-Sorry about that." She's out of breath and he tries not to start cooing.

"Thanks, no problem," he smiles. He ponders whether to make that joke about her eating the whole large pizza by herself, but no, she doesn't seem the type to take it too well—not like it'd offend her, but it's more like she just… wouldn't get it. In any case, it'd just be bad customer service to tease her, right? "Well, I hope you enjoy your meal, thanks for choosing Domino's!"

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't smile. She just stares. Len might've paled a bit—did he forget to do something crucial? He's been at this job for months, he couldn't have, like, messed up her order or something… Did he forget her drinks? Wait, did she even order drinks? He's panicking now, hovering around in waits for her complaints—

But she just goes on with her silence, and after a few seconds Len comes to the conclusion that she's just shy. So he holds up a hand in farewell and turns down the (massive, polished marble) porch, mentally marking the end of his life's one and only Rendezvous with a Rich Girl—

"Wait."

His heart stops and he waits.

She opens her mouth, then closes it, says "Never mind," then shakes her head and says, "No, wait, listen."

You'd think she was asking him out or something.

Len mentally stomped his right foot with his left.

Could you call it wishful thinking if he wasn't even wishing for it?

Why was he even thinking of such astronomical impossibilities, anyway?

Freudian slip?

He'd always hated having to study Freud in school. The guy's views were really _anal_ , and the use of the word 'anal' to describe Freud was totally not a purposeful joke.

He prompts her to continue with his eyes, but maybe that was a mistake because she seems to hesitate again.

"What is it?" he then asks, maybe getting a little concerned. There's something almost pitiful in the way she hesitates—he wonders if you could call it sad.

Finally, through all her nervousness, come out a few words. "Y-You have to be getting back to work soon, I'm assuming."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"But would it be okay if you were… just a bit late in getting back?"

"Well, sure? It's not like they're timing me."

She smiles. "Great. Then, how about you come in?"

He can't believe what he's hearing for a second, but his feet are moving back up the porch without his brain's consent.

So in the end, she wasn't asking him out, but inviting him in.

* * *

I know It's Late, But

 _let's sit down with pizza and chicken wings and talk like good friends_

* * *

It would've been so disturbingly different if the genders were reversed. Random awkward creepy guy inviting poor teenage pizza delivery girl into his big empty house? Oh man, he didn't even want to think about it.

But Len is pretty sure she doesn't have anything malicious up her sleeve. Granted, he has no idea what she's thinking, but he's sure it's not _bad_. She's too cute for it to be bad.

He laughs suddenly. The girl whirls around. He smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry. I was just thinking about how stupid I am."

She shrugs and continues leading him down the hall.

If Len were alone, you can bet he'd be stopping every five seconds to closer examine the house's features (was that a spiral staircase?!) but the house owner's daughter's presence pressures him into maintaining the image of sanity.

Eventually they're in some kind of lounge. There are bed-like couches and a television spanning more area than Len's whole bedroom. The girl places the Domino's bag on the table and motions for him to sit across from her, and he robotically complies.

"So what's your name?" Somehow Len ended up being the one to speak first.

"Rin Kagamine."

"Whoa, really? That's weird. We have the same last name. I'm Len Kagamine."

"That's certainly strange…" Rin agrees.

"So... so." He's not normally this awkward, dammit. "So, what do your parents do?" (Read: how can they afford such a freaking mammoth of a TV?!)

"They're investors," she answers tonelessly, as if she's been through this conversation a thousand times.

Len nods. "Thought it'd be something like that. You have money like this, you're either a doctor, a lawyer, or some kind of business person. Must be nice to have money working for you. Me, I wouldn't have a chance in the business world… I have no clue how money works."

"It's not that complicated."

"Maybe you're just really smart." He says it offhandedly, but she frowns and blushes slightly, and Len resolves to pull back a bit on the friendliness, because they're not friends and she's a stranger who just invited the pizza boy into her house and the whole situation is kinda creepy now that he thinks about it.

He tries not to think about it.

"So…" he begins, "is no one else home?"

Oh god he's such a creeper.

"Just me."

Don't smile Len don't smile don't holy shit Len you're smiling stop it STOP IT

"Mm, I see. Your parents are out. Rich people are usually busy people. At least, that's what I think. Not like I know any rich people." He laughs. His mouth does tend to run. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No."

"Any housekeepers?"

"They leave in the evening."

Internally Len is fanboying again. SHE HAS HOUSEKEEPERS. IN THE PLURAL.

"Ah… So you're usually alone in the evenings, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you go out then?" With me. "Uhhhh, I mean, there's nothing forcing you to stay here all lonely, right?"

"Not… really. But where _would_ I go?" She has a tired yet earnest way of speaking, yet at the same time it's like she's trying to suck her voice of all emotion before it comes out her mouth. Len puts his chin in his hand, curious.

"I dunno… don't you have friends?" Crap, that came out wrong.

She doesn't seem to take offense, though. "Not any I'd want to hang out with." Shockingly frank.

"Well then, find some! You just haven't met the right people yet."

She relaxes into the couch, hugging her ankles meekly, and Len's eyes somehow mysteriously attach to her sock feet and refuse to let go.

Just, come on. Rich girl in sock feet. All his fantasies come true.

"It's tiring to go through people though… Like trialling them to see whether I like them or not… The return rate is so low compared to what I put in… You know? So I'd rather just not try at all."

It's weird that she's getting so deep with a stranger, but then again, it's probably _because_ he's a stranger that she can go so deep. "I know what you mean, at least I think I do. Is that how it's always been for you? Have you ever had someone you could call a true friend?"

"Not really."

Wow, what could he say to that? "Well, you gotta keep trying. Good friends aren't hard to find, trust me. You just gotta put yourself out there a little, you know? Let people know you're interested in being friends with them. I mean, uh, that's what I do, at least."

What is even happening. Well, he was working as usual when he was abducted by a tiny rich girl, forced to sit on the softest couch he'd ever sat on and _not even offered tea_ , and now he's teaching her how to make friends… Next she's going to turn on the Wii U and make him play Smash with her, actually no, she's not that type. It'd be something like Dance Dance Revolution.

"Do _you_ have a lot of friends?" she asks.

"I like to think so."

She scrutinizes him, as if checking if he's serious, then rolls her eyes.

But strangely, he's not hurt. In fact, he laughs, and it's not even a defense mechanism or anything—he's just surprised because he thought she was a shy cute little rich girl when in reality, she's a little cold and ironic and would probably wear sweatpants if only her parents would buy them for her. (She's wearing a comfortable-looking, oversized green wool sweater, and rumpled knee-high socks over leggings and despite his mom always accusing him of knowing nothing about fashion, he's pretty sure her outfit would universally be considered cute.)

In other words, he thought she'd make him play Dance Dance Revolution, but she'd probably just make him watch her hardcore on like, Fallout 4.

"Hey, don't roll your eyes at me!" he protests, though still chuckling. "Wouldn't not having friends be more eyeroll-worthy than having lots of friends?"

"Depends what you want in life."

"Well… that's true. Some people don't need a lot of friends, I guess. Do you think you need friends, then?"

"I don't think I need them. But I guess I want them."

"Ah, there, you've admitted it. So just go out and make them!"

"It's not as easy as you make it seem," she says, shrugging. "They talk behind your back, brush you off, tell you things you don't want to hear, sometimes they flat-out reject you… It's a pain."

"But…" Len sees a flaw in her reasoning. "How would you know that, if you've never had a real friend before?"

"Simple. None of those people were my friends."

"Right."

He lets the conversation die, because it was too weird for his liking.

He allows himself to lean back into the amazingly soft couch, wondering briefly how screwed he'd be when his boss saw him coming back late. Then he decides not to think about it.

"So why'd you invite me in, anyway? Were you that lonely? Were you trying to recruit a friend, or something?" Or maybe a boyfr… No Len stop.

She croaks. Well, that's how Len would describe the sound—it was like a frog tripping post-hop, or a duck realizing too late it'd waddled into a busy intersection.

"I don't need a reason, do I?" She tugs at her sleeve, pouting slightly.

"Um, you kind of do," says Len amusedly. "No one just invites the pizza guy into their house for no reason. C'mon, tell me! It was because you were lonely, wasn't it?" The possibility was just entirely too cute: china-doll blonde rich girl trying to befriend pizza guy in her cute, awkward way… Don't start cooing Len don't start cooing she'll think you're weird—

"There's no reason," she maintains, voice raising at the end, making Len wonder if he should feel threatened.

"There _is_ , you can't deny it and you're being really obvious you're hiding something, to be honest…"

"Shut up," she says swiftly.

But he doesn't; in fact, her words have the opposite effect.

"Maybe I'll start guessing!" he says cheerfully. "Since you're really bad at playing it cool, I'll be able to tell when I've got it right."

"Maybe I'll kick you out."

"Ahhhhh nononono wait. Don't kick me out. Why would you invite me in just to kick me out ten minutes later?"

"You're rather insufferable."

"Should've taken that into account before you let me in."

"How was I supposed to know?" she protests. "You're so annoying…"

He enjoys one more moment of lording himself over her, then leans forward and pulls the pizza box out of the bag. "C'mon, how about you eat this pizza you paid forty bucks for before it gets cold." He ends up opening the box and ripping out a slice for her, as he assumed she hadn't yet learned how to do such proletarian things herself.

"Here." It's cooled enough to hold it without a napkin. He slips it into her hands. Their hands brush in the process, naturally, and he takes the little sparks in stride.

She takes one bite, and puts it back down.

He raises a brow. "Not hungry?"

"Not now. Why don't you have some?"

"Huh? Me? Wait, are you offering pizza to the delivery boy?"

"Yes," she says, adding an inaudible 'duh'.

"Well, I'll take you up on that, but you're a weirdo." He _was_ hungry, maybe she was able to tell? He pulled a slice and finished it in under two minutes. She looked on expressionlessly, disgust with his peasant way of eating probably bubbling in her stomach. But it was a charm point for a reasonably thin guy to be a big eater, right?

As he wipes the sauce off his mouth, an idea comes to him. Should he…? Maybe that would be _too_ cheeky… But…

"Hey, you've got chicken wings in there too. Can I…?"

She doesn't appear offended. "Help yourself."

"Sweeeet." As he pries open the box of chicken, he adds, "You are, I mean."

She looks away, and Len can't tell if she's grimacing or blushing or both. "It's just food. Really greasy food."

"You bought it, though." He takes a bite. "And grease is good, that's why they both start with G." He realizes with some surprise that he just spoke with his mouth full of chicken, in front of a mini-bourgeoise, and he's not ashamed. Oh, how bold he is.

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, suit yourself, I mean, I'm not complaining," Len grins. Rin smiles slightly in return, which surprises Len as much as it makes him happy.

"So did you already have dinner?"

"No," she replies. "I'm just not hungry."

"Wait, but," Len checks his watch, "it's like, eleven. When'd you last eat?"

"Around noon. But I'm not hungry," she reiterates.

"But Rin," he says, feeling her name on his tongue, even among all the chicken, "there's no way you're not hungry after twelve hours."

"Eleven, can't you count?"

"I'm rounding. Anyway, you should eat." He holds out a single chicken wing. "Here."

She looks inappropriately disgusted. "You _touched_ that."

Jeez, rich people. "My hands aren't _dirty_ or anything…"

"You didn't wash them before coming in," she says, as if accusing him of like, robbing a bank or killing her father. "You can put those germs into yourself but not into me."

Ah, little rich brats… He thought they only existed in movies. "Don't be a germaphobe, _Rin_."

"Germaphobe…" she spits the word. "I'm not the one who's going to get sick."

"Hey, if you wanted me to wash my hands before eating, I would've."

"Just the fact that you're used to not washing your hands before eating… Makes me feel sick."

Wait, is she actually getting worked up about this? He was just joking around, so when did things get this heated?

"Hey, hey, calm down. If you're so scared of germs all the time, you'll never develop resistance."

"If you never expose yourself to them in the first place, you won't get sick anyway."

"That's naive and you know it. You can't just keep germs away like that, they'll always find a way to you…" He trails off.

It's strange how much he learned about Rin's person over the past twenty minutes. She's the preventive type, he realizes; kill it before it infects. It's better to have never loved at all than to love and lose. She's like that with germs, and with people.

He holds the chicken up again. "Learn to take some risks, Rin."

She narrows her eyes. "How idiotic."

He stands suddenly and smirks. "I'm going to make you eat this piece of chicken. I'll shove it down your throat if I have to."

He can see the fear flash in her eyes. It pleases him. "Y-You're crazy."

"At least I'm aware of it." He sits down beside her now and holds it to her face. "Take it before I start to feed you."

He imagines for a split-second what it would be like to hand-feed her chicken wings. There's something vaguely erotic about it, but he'd best not think too hard about it.

She can tell he isn't joking, so she gingerly takes the chicken and Len has to clutch his chest because she sniffs it, and it's honestly adorable but for god's sake who sniffs their food like that?

She eats it, though, however slowly and 'ladylike', and Len feels accomplished.

When she puts the bone down and looks at him expectantly, he smiles and pats her shoulder. "See, my point there was that it won't kill you to take a chance now and then. Eat the dirty chicken. Let people be your friends. Invite the pizza guy in for pizza." He pauses. "That, and you shouldn't just starve yourself for twelve hours."

"...Eleven."

"You need help," he sighs.

* * *

"Well, that was fun."

They're back at the porch now. He was hanging around so long, he's sure to get an earful from the manager, but whatever. He can pretend the bike's motor busted, or something.

"But I still want to know why you invited me in in the first place."

She frowns. "I thought you'd already figured that out."

"I… did? When?" He thinks back, then it clicks. "Wait. Wait, so it _was_ that you were lonely and wanted to make friends with the pizza guy? Seriously?" He laughs loudly—he knows it's embarrassing her like hell but he can't help it, he really can't. "Oh, man, I don't know what to say."

She has her arms crossed and a firm pout in place, but it appears she doesn't know what to say either.

"Friends, huh…" He smirks a little. "Well, we'll see how that works out." He knows what he's thinking, but she has no idea. Well, she _will_ know, some time in the far future, he decides.

Sure, she's immature, but she's cute so it's okay. And yes, she's bratty, but that's part and parcel of the 'rich girl' type, so he'll have to deal with it.

A part of him whispered, ' _that's so messed-up_ ,' and he replied, ' _shut up, punk_.'

"You're awfully rude for a friend," she jeers.

"You'll find the best friends are often the rudest ones." He kicks his bike into gear. "The nosiest ones know how to carve all the tunnels."

She looks bewildered, and to be honest Len has no idea what he just said either. "But that makes no sense."

He shrugs.

She huffs and paces back into her house, but instead of slamming the door like Len expected, she looks him straight in the eye and says flatly, "If I order pizza tomorrow and some other crackpot comes to deliver it, I'll be quite upset."

Okay, that made him pretty happy. Also, what kind of teenager uses the word 'crackpot' unironically? "See you tomorrow, then."

Her glare melts over and she grins too. "See you, dude."

She closes the door behind her and Len knows it's futile to try to stop smiling.

Riding back down the ten-mile driveway, alone under the clear night sky with the bubbling feeling of having made someone's day… He could get used to it.

* * *

ah, this was such a bad idea lol "rich girl and pizza delivery boy" what was I thinking?!

I got the idea from like, a reddit post somewhere... like this old man invited the pizza guy in and they ate and he talked about his experience in the war... you can blame that redditor, this story is their fault.

my headcanon for this story is that this is rin's first time eating pizza. she takes one bite and decides she doesn't like it. but that doesn't matter, because she didn't order pizza for the pizza; the whole reason she did was just that she wanted someone to talk to.

IT'S 6 AM AND I DIDN'T SLEEP SO THIS IS NOT EDITED BUT PLZ REVIEW OK GOOD NIGHTTTT


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